


Boredom and its Implications

by IcarusPeverell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bookworm Harry Potter, Dark Harry, Dark Harry Potter, Death, Elder Wand (Harry Potter), Genius Harry Potter, Harry Potter is Lord Peverell, Heir of Slytherin, Invisibility Cloak (Harry Potter), M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, Necromancer Harry Potter, Parseltongue, Possessive Tom Riddle, Powerful Harry, Pureblood Harry Potter, Resurrection Stone, Smart Harry Potter, Tom Riddle Needs a Hug, Wandless Magic, Young Tom Riddle, family magicks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24998428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcarusPeverell/pseuds/IcarusPeverell
Summary: In an alternate universe where Voldemort doesn't exist, Harry Potter becomes the Master of Death after defeating Dumbledore in a duel. After that, he tries to pursue a life of study in solitude. But after many years, he gets bored. Thus, he does a ritual to summon Death and by chance, Death forces him to tell him his desires. As the primary issue in Harry's life is boredom, Harry tells Death that. And Death ensures Harry won't be bored again by sending him to a world with Tom Riddle... in 1942.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 55
Kudos: 635





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, 
> 
> I just wanted to say that this is my first fanfic ever, so please be gentle with me! I will try to upload a new chapter when I can. I am not an English native speaker, by the way, so any suggestions in terms of grammar would be appreciated.
> 
> Thank you 🌹

Tom Riddle’s Diary

_20th July, 1938_

_My dear Diary,_

_I think I have come to the conclusion that the human being is fascinating. We constantly have struggles that intervene on many levels, such as in the political or economic fields... We also fight against ourselves, our impulses, desires, and negative thoughts. That is a fact. But I don’t deny this reality. Conflict is inherently human, and it’s necessary for our survival. We have to embrace this fact. Accept it. Those who seek a utopian society wherein there’s no conflict or evil are people who are either too enraptured with their morals, or hypocrites. But I don’t blame them. Everyone progresses at their own pace._

_I've always liked to play with the idea that life is like a theatre. Each individual acts in a predetermined role. It's not a bad thing per se; it's even possible to become part of a truly moving story. But at the end of the day, we are just actors forced to play a role. Thinking that we are puppets reassures me, it gives me peace. It reassures me because I know that responsibility, then, is something illusory, an entelechy, and it gives me peace because I know that whatever I do, I will not cease to be forced to comply with the guidelines of the Script (which would be the determinism our lives are subjected to)._

_What is more, death has always caused me panic; it is something I have been unable to avoid thinking about repeatedly and which subjects me to a truly exhilarating state of despair. I do not believe in the existence of God, and even less in people who claim to be the incarnation of God (or any superior being, for that matter). Although there are certain abilities that some might call supernatural that I possess, that I have yet to explain. But for the moment I prefer to abstain from judgment, merely limiting myself to establishing hypotheses, until I have more tools._

_Moreover, I don’t have spiritual desires, unlike other people (as the matrons of the orphanage). That is why I have tried to read thinkers, illustrious philosophers with whom I can delve into this matter. But I have never been able to avoid those distressing thoughts that have death at their root; overwhelming, limiting thoughts. I don't think I will ever be able to overcome my finitude. However, the thought that every human being is destined to die helps me to cope. Omnia mortis aequat. I’m sure that, as they grow up, the men who are in the higher echelons of society will start to become afraid of the eventual death that is certainly coming sooner than later; and they will turn pale, with an emaciated face. Knowing that they have a fortune and that they won’t be able to enjoy it to the fullest... That face of despair, ah, it would be really touching to see them, indeed._

_But I digress. My point is: I think I have to live my life without regrets. I am certain of my greatness. And I would like to say that I’m not being pretentious, or vain. My academic achievements in my (sadly) short life are something difficult to imitate, I would say. As such, I need to satisfy all my desires. And if petty people try to meddle with me, I will dispose of them. Petty morals are for the weak, and I am everything but weak._

TMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTM

_23 rd July, 1938_

_My dear Diary,_

_Today has happened something worthy to mention. A man, about his fifties I would say, has visited me to the wonderful humble abode of mine, the orphanage. He came to me after Ms. Cavanagh, one of the matrons, gave me a severe look which is certainly underserved, as I am the most splendid company of the orphanage. Then, this man, called Albus Dumbledore, started asking me questions about my supernatural abilities; such as if I had ever had done something that couldn’t be explained, or if I had even realised about that. In the beginning I got nervous (something I despise), because I thought the matrons of the orphanage were about to contact an exorcist for me._

_I must confess myself… disappointed of my behaviour: I was rather discourteous with Dumbledore, and when I later knew the reason behind his visit, I realised that it was a short-sighted thing to do. He told me that I had been accepted to Hogwarts, a school for wizards (and witches) like me. To think there is a secret society that non-magical people (or muggles, as Dumbledore said) don’t know of, is rather amusing. Little pests muggles are, indeed._

_Anyway, tomorrow I will head to Diagon Alley, a wizard’s market, to purchase everything I need for my future schooling. I am quite excited by the prospect of it, too. Magic seems like something that only belongs to books, to be honest. However, here I am, a living proof that magic exists in our world, too. I can’t wait to devour all the books I can. Honing my skills will make me even greater, and I can’t wait for it._


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter opened his eyes. Today was the day. He had researched for the ritual he was going to perform for more than 7 years, and if everything went right, he would be able to summon the entity called Death. The ritual itself wasn’t that complex. At least, it wasn’t _too_ complex. The difficulty relied on the complexity of the runes that had to be engraved in the encircled hexagram that would become the summoning area. The thing was, the runes belonged to an ancient language only used by necromancers, and there were very few texts that talked about these type of runes or the ritual itself.

Ritual Magic was one of the most difficult branches of magic. After studying for years this particular branch, Harry was surer than ever about that. That was because rituals were a complex combination of Potions, Alchemy, Arithmancy, Charms and Ancient Runes, requiring advanced proficiency in all of the above (if not outright mastery). Another factor to take into account was that not all rituals were well-designed, and even if done correctly, there could be disastrous side effects. Thus, the only way to ascertain which rituals were safe to do was by cross-referencing all of the texts that were at your disposal.

As such, journals made by late wizards who delved into rituals were invaluable, as they recounted their experience. In that regard, Harry got lucky, as he took the mantle of the Black family (which had an extensive library) thanks to Sirius Black, his late godfather and parental figure who named him his heir after his parents died when he was a child. Moreover, in the different travels he had done through the years, he had amassed different volumes and texts from different cultures and tribes around the world. Sometimes, Harry had to go further than expected (stealing), but overall, his charisma was sufficient in order to learn everything he could.

Nonetheless, the specific ritual he was about to perform was something quite special. In one of his travels, three years after he acquired the Hallows, he came into possession of a specific grimoire from an extinguished Italian family of necromancers in an auction in Rome. The thing was: the grimoire formed part of the Peverell family. Naturally, this specific tome was something invaluable for Harry, as he was already in possession of the three hallows but never knew if he could extract their power better (or if he already was the so called “Master of Death”). Of course, acquiring the grimoire was more difficult than he expected.

He devised a plan that included creating a fake persona, enchanting almost the totality of the Black fortune (which was the price of the grimoire) in a way that it would return to a safe location in a specific moment, so as to send the money but not losing it. He managed to do that by overriding the enchantments done by the goblins. As such, he had to cast some forgotten spells he encountered in one of the tomes he found when he raided an ancient family manor in Russia (not that it was a usual thing he did, not at all).

In the end, the organisers of the auction contacted the authorities in Italy and a warrant for a certain Mr. Roonil Wazlib was in all the newspapers of Europe and even in the US and some countries of Asia. But it wasn’t as Harry cared. He made sure everything was perfect.

Besides, Harry was fascinated by the Peverell grimoire after having his hands on it. He read spells so difficult to cast that even he, a natural (some even would say a genius), couldn’t perform them without spending months practicing them. The difficulty of said spells was due to having to channel massive amounts of magic. And sometimes, more usually than not, some spells required an astounding finesse in magical manipulation. In fact, the spells were so complex that fiendfire or other relatively known elemental magic paled in comparison.

But that wasn’t what interested Harry the most. Even if the grimoire was a goldmine of elemental conjurations, weather magic and even more esoteric branches of arcane knowledge, such as necromancy, soul magicks or ancient curses. No, what interested Harry the most was the knowledge of a certain ritual.

Since his acquisition of the Invisibility Cloak when he was a child, he had always been interested in its history. Eventually, Dumbledore himself confirmed his suspicions: his Invisibility Cloak was the fabled Invisibility Cloak of the Tale of the Three Brothers.

What followed was almost an obsession with the items during his teenage years and youth. The tale recounted in the Beedle the Bard's book fascinated Harry, and as he had already in possession the third hallow, which was, in Harry’s opinion, the least impressive of the three, he wanted to know what power he could gain by reuniting the three of them. 4 years after finishing his NEWTS at Hogwarts, he contacted Gregorovitch, a famous wand maker, and then got his first clue (after persuading him in a _most_ delicate way): he got a drawing with the appearance of the Wand of Destiny or, as it is more commonly known, the Elder Wand. And when he saw its appearance, he started laughing, as he knew where exactly said wand was.

Harry then contacted Albus Dumbledore because he was interested in the study of Alchemy, of course – _not_ because of other nefarious reasons. Dumbledore, unexpectedly, accepted his petition and together, they immersed themselves in the study of Alchemy and other less known branches of magic that Dumbledore was master of, such as legilimency, occlumency, advanced transfiguration and elemental magicks. In the end, however, after 8 years under Dumbledore’s tutelage, Harry saw the perfect chance to defeat him, and stole his wand.

He had to rely on a time turner he had stolen 3 years before the fated day, though (thank the deities the Department of Mysteries had pitiful defenses), but eventually he managed to lure Dumbledore into a location where he couldn’t escape and trapped him with the use of runes and a magical artefact he had managed to acquire (legally, of course), that boosted his magic during a short period of time, as Dumbledore was more skilled than Harry (even if Harry didn’t want to acknowledge such fact).

After Dumbledore’s defeat, though, the search for the Hallows became even more of an obsession to Harry, and it was only due to sheer dumb luck that he managed to find the Resurrection Stone or the second of the Deathly Hallows.

Harry found the Stone after wanting to further his studies in magical languages as, after studying extensively, he had noticed that magical languages such as Parseltongue or Mermish (among a few others) tended to be more potent when casting spells than Latin or other mundane languages. As such, Harry became interested in Parseltongue and started studying its history and the families who, till then, had also the gift of Parseltongue. As it happens, the only family who still had the ancient magical language in their genes was the Gaunts, a family that had a tendency of marrying their cousins to keep their blood pure to retain the gift from their ancestor; the notorious Salazar Slytherin.

So Harry went to Little Hangleton to visit the Gaunts. He received a _marvellous_ reception from Marvolo Gaunt II, the son of Merope Gaunt and Morfin Gaunt; disgustingly, they were brother and sister - most acommodating they were, indeed. Sadly, Harry noticed that the Gaunts had squandered all of their gold, probably due to the Gaunts’ love of grandeur and mental instability. However, Harry noticed a special ring on the hand of Marvolo that had the Peverell symbol. And after _much_ deliberation (of course)… Harry stole it. It wasn’t much later that Harry realised that the stone embedded in the ring was the fabled Resurrection Stone.

But after reuniting the Hallows nothing happened. Harry, intuitively, had already come to the conclusion that it was very possible that nothing would happen, but seeing it was another thing. Harry, then, started to study the artefacts and that lead to start studying necromancy, an esoteric branch of the Dark Arts that few touched – and three years later, he continued his study in necromancy with the Peverell grimoire.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH

The chamber was poorly illuminated. A dark figure approached the centre of the hexagram and started chanting in an ancient forgotten language. His voice was deep, and the sounds he emitted were rough, a little throaty even. After raising a long dagger embedded with runes, the dark figure cut his hand and blood started to fill the ritual lines in the floor. His guttural chants started to sound louder and louder, and the magic that inundated the chamber became unbearable for any normal wizard – not that the dark figure was normal in any sense. The ritual lines engraved in the floor started to lighten up.

Suddenly, a dark entity – because that creature couldn’t be explained in mortal words, appeared in front of the dark figure. The dark figure, then, knelt in front of the entity. A voice so profound it seemed to be everywhere resounded in the chamber.

“ _Who dares summon me?_ ” Asked Death in the same forgotten language as the ritual.

“ _My name is Harry James Potter. I am greatly honoured to make your acquaintance, my lord_.”

The last words seemed to amuse the entity, as the entity asked him, in turn, about the purpose of his summoning.

“ _My lord, I would like to ask you if these three artefacts,_ ” he then signalled the Hallows that were outside the ritual circle “ _were yours. And if that was the case, to return them to you_.” Harry bowed to him.

Death then summoned the Hallows, and the three artefacts floated in front of him. “ _Ah, yes… These are my creations. I made them not a long time ago. For three brothers, I recall._ ” Harry nodded.

“ _Yes, the Peverell brothers: Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus Peverell. Legend has it that they overcame you after making a river and, in reward, you gifted your creations to them._ ” Death seemed amused by that.

 _"That is false. I made these artefacts because they pledged their loyalty to me. Nowadays, only those who have Peverell blood can summon me. But tell me, childe, what do you want in reward for returning me my creations?_ ”

Harry, for a little while, didn’t respond Deaths’ question as he was too shocked by what Death had said.

_“My lord, you are too benevolent; your gratitude is sufficient.”_

_“I know you desire something, childe. Tell me what it is.”_ The entity pressed.

Harry knew, then, that he couldn’t hope to lie to Death. So he summoned the courage he could and said:

 _“My lord, the life I live bores me. I have studied for years magic and I have seen things that possibly anyone has ever seen but, somehow, I can’t see the appeal my life has. I haven’t met anyone who can stand more or less at the same feet as I, either in terms of intelligence or magical aptitude. I feel lonely….”_ Said Harry resignedly, even though he wished to die because of the embarrassment he felt.

Death only nodded and then, somehow seemed to smirk.

_“There is no need to worry, childe. I will ensure that won’t happen again”_

And Harry knew no more.


	3. Chapter 3

Tom Riddle’s Diary

_24 thJuly, 1938_

_My dear Diary,_

_Today I bought my school supplies. Yesterday Dumbledore informed me how to gain access to Diagon Alley and the Hogwarts Express; the train that will get me to Hogwarts. Although it pains me to accept it, this morning I almost jumped out of my bed because of the excitement. Yes, I know, I should be more proper than_ that _, but I couldn’t help myself._

_Diagon Alley was quite different from what I expected. It was full of wizards and witches buying apparently stupid things, such as chocolate frogs or blood flavoured lollipops. However, it’s not like I’m going to judge the wizarding world until I know more of it. Sadly, the little stipend Dumbledore gave me wasn’t as much as I wanted – in fact; it was the amount necessary to only buy my school supplies._

_A pity, if I do say so myself. Nonetheless, I managed to buy a book on wizarding traditions (as I bought second hand robes). The book has been enlightening._

_It seems that in Great Britain (England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland), the primary governing body is called the Ministry of Magic (headed by the Minister for Magic) and it is responsible for regulating and enforcing laws for the magical community, as well as keeping what is called the ‘International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy’, which is a law laid down by the International Confederation of Wizards, to safeguard the wizarding community from muggles and hide its presence from the world._

_On another note, there is the Wizengamot, a judicial and legislative chamber made by ancient wizarding families, such as the Blacks, the Malfoys, the Notts, the Lestranges or the Longbottoms (among many others). In this chamber, which acts also as a High Court, trials are held, new laws are approved or dismissed and it is also used to debate the new laws that the ancient families or the minister present._

_Another thing noteworthy to mention is Gringotts, the wizarding bank. It seems that goblins are entrusted with the entire wizarding economy (which, in principle, seems a rather poor idea) and not just that: they are entrusted to manage the lands or properties of their clients as well as ensure the ancient families’ heirs have their fortunes and properties available to them. This is possible thanks to a little ritual called ‘Inheritance Test’, which is a little ritual used to ascertain whether you are eligible to inherit a family’s fortune or not. As a side note, Gringotts also offers curse-breaking services as well as warding services, which are protection enchantments used to protect objects or even properties._

_All in all, from what I’ve inferred in the book I’ve read, the magical community isn’t as perfect as I would have liked to – there’s a heavy social bias between those who are part of wizarding families and those who have muggle ancestry (which would be my case, I suspect). I wonder if having wizarding ancestry does make you more powerful magically speaking as the book suggests._

_2 nd September, 1938_

_My dear Diary,_

_Yesterday was quite eventful – so much, in fact, that I wasn’t able to write you. I am already in Hogwarts (finally). I have been sorted to Slytherin, the house of those who are cunning, resourceful and ambitious. Of all 4 houses, Slytherin and Ravenclaw seemed the ones most suitable for me as, I would say, am quite cunning and ambitious but also witty and with a drive to learn (and certainly_ not _chivalrous or loyal). I really didn’t suspect the Sorting Hat would know where to put me without even touching my head which, in retrospective, doesn’t make sense, as the Sorting Hat in theory sorts you by the qualities you possess, so how could the Hat know if he didn’t establish direct contact with my mind? There must be an explanation, surely._

_Besides, sadly, my sorting wasn’t as welcoming as I wished to. As my surname (Riddle) is from muggle origin (now I’m sure), my other classmates in Slytherin see me as a ‘mudblood’, that is, a person who doesn’t have wizarding ancestry and who can pollute ‘the noble lines’. Abraxas Malfoy and Arcturus Black, both the heirs of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Malfoy and Black respectively and classmates in my year, were especially vocal about that._

_The thing is, both Black and Malfoy are very influential, so antagonising them would make my school years not as great as I want to. As such, I will have to employ more subtle tactics to ingratiate myself with them. But it’s not as if it would be an impossible task – I’m sure that by the end of the year, they will be in my pocket. At the moment, both of them have been rather rude to me, but they haven’t used physical or magical means to illustrate their displeasure, which is a positive thing, I would say._

_31 st October, 1938_

_My dear Diary,_

_I can categorically state that in terms of magical power purebloods, half-bloods and muggleborns are more or less the same. In these past months, I’ve become the best student of my year by far. I’ve excelled in every class and some teachers have told me that I am one of the best students they have ever seen (if not_ the _best). Some half-bloods and muggleborns beside me (though I’m still not sure about that) have also excelled at their studies._

_Nevertheless, now I understand why purebloods see half-bloods and muggleborns as inferior. It seems everything has to do with something called Family Magic._

_As it happens, it seems pureblooded families excel at certain types of magic whereas muggleborns and half-bloods (in a lesser extent) don’t. That is because after many generations, a magical family ends up specialising in a certain branch of magic, this leading to acquiring magical gifts or just a certain proclivity to be better at certain magicks._

_Thus, in the magical world, wizards and witches will likely hire services from certain pureblood families due to their known history with the subject and their proclivity to be better than normal in that specific branch of magic. For example, the Black family is famous (or rather, infamous) for their ability in the Dark Arts and Warding. The Malfoys, on the other hand, are known to excel at Mind Magicks – especially Occlumency, a certain branch of the Mind Arts that specialises in protecting the mind from foreign invasions. The Longbottoms are known by their ability in Herbology and magical plants. The Potters, interestingly, are known to excel in Elemental Magicks._

_However, being pureblood doesn’t make you a better wizard overall – just better at certain branches of magic. To explain better this matter, I like to make an analogy with colours. While muggleborns would be white, that is, a jack of all trades, because their magic hasn’t been attuned to certain branches of magic, purebloods and half-bloods —to a lesser extent—, would have their magic attuned to different colours. Of course, that would have downsides, too. For example, if your magic is most attuned to Dark Magicks, then, it would be difficult for you to excel in the Light Arts, which are another respectful branch of magic._


	4. Chapter 4

Harry woke up sweating profusely. Everything was blurry. For five minutes, everything he could do was breathing and trying to pull himself together. When he recovered enough to see where he was, he realised he was in the middle of London, at the mouth of an alley. He stopped to survey the area. Judging the sky, it was late afternoon, moving toward evening. Passing in front of him were cars circulating and people walking around... in a fashion that went out of style in the muggle world before Harry was born. Harry knew that from the minor amount of television he had watched.

That puzzled Harry. _Am I in the past, perhaps?_ Well, the first thing Harry wanted to do was ensure shelter; then, get information about the time he was (if he was indeed in the past, though it seemed certainly so). Maybe later he could make for himself a new identity.

After walking for half an hour, he recognised the street he was on. That allowed him head to Diagon Alley. Sadly, he didn’t have anything on him – not even his precious wand (which saddened him quite a bit). Besides, the people around him, well, _ogled_ him without any apparent reason. Was there something wrong about himself? He stopped to look at his reflection in the window of a parked car. His reflection shocked him.

He was… well, he was previously handsome, but now, he was absolutely stunning. His pale skin without blemishes contrasted his alabaster straight silk black hair that was up to his shoulder blades. He also had high cheekbones – overall, aristocratic features. But what really highlighted his face were his eyes. As opposed to his normal jade green eyes, now his eyes were golden. Harry wasn’t vain, but now he had difficulty not to think about himself as one of the prettiest faces he had ever seen. He seemed an angel. Or perhaps it would be better to say a fallen angel?

Nonetheless, even if Harry studied his features closely, what surprised him was his apparent age, because he was, once again, a fourteen year old teenager. _Well, fuck. This isn’t what I wanted._

He finally arrived at the Leaky Cauldron (after walking for 20 minutes more), which upon first glance looked almost exactly as he remembered, though the bartender was someone else.

“Excuse me, could I have the Daily Prophet?” Harry asked the bartender. The bartender furrowed his eyes but said nothing. He gave Harry a copy of the Daily Prophet of the day. Harry fixed his gaze on the date in the newspaper. _So today is 18 August, 1942… Interesting._ “Um, sir, would you mind if I kept it?” asked Harry again. This time the bartender properly answered. “Not a problem, lad. You can keep it. But will you read it? I thought lads like you liked other things.” Harry smiled. “I assure you I will read it, sir. Thank you”. And quickly went to the end of the pub where the entrance to the Alley was located. 

Diagon Alley was… well, almost the same as Harry remembered. There were some shops that seemed newer than in the future, but overall, the most popular shops were still there. But that wasn’t what occupied Harry's mind. No, what Harry was worried about was whether he could get somewhere to sleep for the night. As such, he went to Gringotts.

Luckily, the bank was still opened for business, so Harry approached one of the tellers rather quickly. “Excuse me, could I arrange for an Inheritance Test to be done? It is a matter of some urgency”.

The goblin looked distinctively bored but he nodded and rang a bell. Another goblin rushed up and, after a brief conversation in Gobbledegook, the newly arrived goblin nodded. “Follow me”, he said without preamble or attempt at politeness.

Harry recognised the bluntness for what it was, a combination of efficiency and taunting; a warrior’s race’s blunt attempt to goad those that it felt were inferior to itself into a willing culling.

The goblin stopped as Harry approached a door. “Enter, wizard. Inheritance Manager Blackfang will see you.”

Harry seemed satisfied with this, and continued on with the goblin deeper into Gringotts’ underground. He was led to an inconspicuous office hewn out of a rock. A hammer on the rock was used as a ‘door chime’, and the large stone door that barred his way opened slowly with a rumble and crack of stone upon stressed hinges.

“Ah,” said a grave voice from inside as Harry made his way in. “I’m afraid I don’t recognise you.” The goblin had white hair and seemed to have lost some teeth.

“Nice to meet you. I’m here to perform the Inheritance Test”, said Harry rather politely, sitting down on the chair that was in front of the massive stone desk that the goblin used.

“I see. Well, the fee is 10 galleons. I expect you have the money?”

Upon hearing that, Harry tensed up, but didn’t let it show. “Well, master goblin, would it be possible to pay you after the test? I’m afraid I don’t have any galleons now.”

The goblin nodded, and somehow, seemed to smirk. “Of course, wizard. But you must pay at the latest by 9 p. m. today. Otherwise… there will be consequences.”

“Of course, master goblin. I assure you there won’t be any problem.”

The goblin nodded, once again. Then, the Inheritance Manager turned away and removed a few items from behind his stone desk, including a large bowl, a blank piece of parchment and a red potion, setting them out in from of him. The goblin, then, gestured to the bowl he had set in front of him. Inside the bowl was the imprint of a hand.

“Nothing too complex needed for this. Simply place your hand in the bowl. The magicks inside will cut your hand to get a portion of your blood.” He gestured the bowl. “The only thing you have to do is to pour your magic into the receptacle. If you don’t know how to channel your magic, I’m told to treat it like you were casting a spell with your wand. For a few moments, you may feel… slightly uncomfortable.” The goblin warned innocuously.

Harry wanted to snort at that, aware that he would feel more that a little more that ‘uncomfortable’. He also knew that the blood replenishing potion was there for a reason.

“In theory, the ritual will identify any familiar family magicks registered in our bank and tell us if your magic happens to be dominant over any of them, which would mean that you would be eligible to take headship of a Family.”

In his studies, Harry had researched about this specific ritual, as it was quite important for the wizarding community. Although the specifics weren’t known (as it was goblin magic), the result of the ritual was quite known, as it could affect the future of ancient pureblood families. Basically, this ritual ensured whether the wizard/witch doing it had any specific family magicks in their blood, and if the family magicks were potent enough, said wizard/witch would be able to take headship of their Family.

Normally, that wouldn’t be possible, as the headship of a Family could only be transmitted from father to son or from mother to daughter, if the family was matriarchal, as it happened in some families.

However, sometimes a pureblood line could end (as it would happen if an heir didn’t have children nor close relatives). When that happened, Gringotts would freeze the Family assets at issue until an eligible heir reclaimed the headship once again.

Usually, what happened was that the Family magic of the Family at issue would awaken in a distant relative. Magic made sure that happened. Thus, an Heir would once again appear. This event was quite celebrated in the Wizarding community, as it would mean the reappearance of a Noble Line or even an Ancient and Noble Line (though that was very unusual). As such, it was quite normal for pureblood families to make their children perform the ritual sometime, as an heir could appear in their family.

Harry, of course, wasn’t thinking about this when he performed the ritual. He just put his hand in the bowl and laid it flat in the area made for a hand and, immediately, felt the stone close around his hand, locking it in place. A moment later, he began to channel his magic into the bowl.

He didn’t so much as wince when he felt the stone squeeze his hand firmly and a slash across his palm, his blood oozing into the bowl.

The parchment the goblin laid on the desk started to flutter, as names started to fill it up. The names were written in dark red (clearly from Harry’s blood) in an ornate script. Malfoy, Bones, Greengrass, Lestrange, Nott, Parkinson, Potter and, curiously, some pureblood Italian families, such as Bianchi, Zabini, Rossi, Angelo or Alessi were the only names familiar to Harry. There were dozens of other surnames, though many of which, he knew rather vaguely that were minor households and some (presumably) extinct families.

“Those are all the names of your blood relations. Generally, wizards are related to most purebloods families somewhere in the past, so it takes a bit to fill up.” Blackfang explained, as he evaluated Harry, surprised that the teenager wizard in front of him hadn’t even winced.

There was a distinctive thrum of magic in the air as the genealogy was completed, and Harry felt that the magic he was pushing in the bowl suddenly being pulled more forcefully. The parchment in front of him seemed to have glowing letters on it.

Slowly, the golden script on the page dimmed, to read “ _Peverell Family_ – _Eligible – Unclaimed”_

Harry was surprised (or rather, shocked) to read what the document said.

“Well… This is quite unexpected.” Harry sighed. Blackfang raised an eyebrow. “Could you show me?” asked the goblin. “Yes, of course, provided you keep this in confidence.”

The goblin merely nodded and smiled when he read what the document said. “Well, well, Mr. Peverell, this is certainly a surprise. The heir of one of a Most Ancient and Noble Family (if not _the_ most ancient) in the wizarding world awakens…”

Harry smirked. “As you see, I can probably pay the ritual, right?” The goblin sneered. “Yes, it seems so. A pity.”

Harry decided not to ask him why he thought so.

“Well, I would like to claim my inheritance, as it is my right according to Article 34 paragraph 1 in Rights of Ancient Families, as the sole heir of a Most Ancient and Noble Family.”

Blackfang looked at me impassively, but his lips seemed to curve a little. “Of course, wait here. I will get the Peverell ring. I assume you know the risks if the ring didn’t acknowledge you as Lord?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I know them. I am confident Magic will accept me. Thanks for the warning, though.”

The goblin nodded and left the room. After 15 minutes, he returned with a small white box. He presented the box to Harry. 

“Well, there isn’t any other procedure than to put the ring… and wait if the Family Magicks in the ring accept you as the Peverell Lord, of course” said the goblin with a little smile.

Harry didn’t respond to his taunt. He opened the box and saw the signet Peverell ring, which was beautiful. The ring had a black onyx stone with the Peverell symbol – the ring itself was golden (presumably made of pure gold), and had ornaments around it. It was a pity that the black stone wasn’t the Resurrection Stone, though.

Harry put the ring. From nowhere, powerful winds buffeted the office. Harry felt the winds surround him. After a while, though, the winds became water and started drowning him, and then he felt as if fire ran through his veins. The feeling was quite suffocating, but Harry, after years of putting himself through arduous situations, didn’t let the ring win, and kept peace.

After a while, the ring accepted him as his master, and the ring was adjusted to his pinky finger. Blackfang, though, seemed quite baffled.

“Congratulations, Lord Peverell.”

“Why, thank you, master goblin.” Harry smirked.


	5. Chapter 5

After Harry finished all the boring procedures in the bank that were related to his lordship —such as, how he wanted to manage his seats in the Wizengamot, whether he wanted to invest on new companies, contacting his account manager, procuring that he had all the legal documents in order and, most importantly, changing his name (he didn’t want to be known as Heir Peverell yet)— Harry withdrew some money and left Gringotts. 

Wandlessly, Harry cast a silent _tempus_. As it was quite late, Harry gave up on buying all the things he needed. Though he was in desperate need of a wand, he knew the shop wouldn’t be opened now. He headed to the Leaky Cauldron to rent a room for the night. The bartender, at first, was reluctant to provide him one room, as he thought Harry was, understandably, very young to do so, but after some _persuasion_ (wandless _confundo)_ he calmed down.

All in all, Harry was tired. Tomorrow would be a perfect day to better settle down. For now, he needed to sleep.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry woke up at around 9 o’clock in the morning with a groan. Today he would have to buy a lot of things and it wasn’t as he looked forward to it. Nevertheless, after taking a shower and wandlessly putting some cleaning charms in the loose robes he wore from yesterday and a sack of galleons in one of his pockets, he left the Leaky Cauldron.

 _Well, first things, first._ Ollivanders, the wand shop, as always, was narrow and not too appealing. Above the door, in a gold lettering, there was a sign reading: “Ollivanders: Wand makers since 385 BC.” In the dusty shop window, on a faded green cushion, a single wand was visible.

When Harry entered, a bell rang at the back of the door. What he found was a small, empty place, except for a flimsy chair in one corner of the room. Harry could not help but sense the magic that inundated the place. He looked at the thousands of narrow boxes carefully stacked up to the ceiling.

“Good morning” a kind voice said.

Harry looked at the aged wizard in the counter. His white hair and large and pale eyes shone like moons, reminiscing Harry of his son, Garrick Ollivander. After fixing his glance at Harry, though, he furrowed his eyebrows almost imperceptibly.

“I believe we haven’t met before. I’m Gervais Ollivander. Welcome to my humble shop” nodded the elder wizard.

“Pleasure. I’m Gabriel Alessi. I moved away from Italy to here, Britain, due to… recent events.” said in a boring tone Harry, returning the nod.

This was the story Harry had thought yesterday after performing the Inheritance Test. Well, not that Harry had to think too much, as it seemed his father was actually from the Alessi Family, a well-known ancient pureblood Italian Family known by their ability in transfiguration that recently was thought to be extinguished due to Grindewald’s action. His mother, on another note, was apparently from Germany, from a minor German pureblood Family known for their ability in enchanting. 

Understandably, Harry was more than shocked (freaked out) about that. Had he been reincarnated into someone’s body? How could his family magicks change? In principle, that was impossible. Hence, for the time being Harry could only assume this was Death’s doing. 

“Ah, I see... Did your family relocate here because of Grindewald, perhaps?”

“I’m afraid so, sir.” Harry said with a sad smile, but then continued, rather reluctant. “Not my family, though. Just me. I’m an orphan.”

A look of understanding crossed the eyes of Mr. Ollivander, but he rapidly recovered. “Well, enough the chit-chat. I suspect your last wand got lost or broken, isn’t it?” Harry nodded.

“I see… Well, could you tell me what wood your wand was made of? Perhaps, by knowing this I can speed up the process a bit,” explained Mr. Ollivander, taking a meter out of his pocket and starting measuring Harry.

“Well, my last wand was made of elder. It was a great wand.” Harry had to resist smiling wryly. “I’m quite saddened by its loss.” Mr. Ollivander assented, with a knowing face. “Yes, yes, truly a pity. Losing a wand is a tragic event for a wizard, Mr. Alessi. I hope you find an equal match today.”

“Of course, sir. I’m sure your ability will match up the standards my wand had.” This time, Harry almost couldn’t resist the smirk. “After all… your reputation precedes you.”

“I’m honoured to hear that, Mr. Alessi. Thank you.” If Mr. Ollivander had noticed the taunt he didn’t show it, as he continued. “Well, let’s try some wands. Try this one; yew, 10 and a half inches, dragon heartstring from a fierce specimen, the Ukrainian Ironbelly, nice and supple.” Harry grabbed the wand, but he didn’t feel anything out of it.

“I don’t think this one-” Harry couldn’t finish the sentence, as Mr. Ollivander took the wand in his hands. “No, no, I’m afraid not. Try this one. Ebony, 13 and a quarter inches, phoenix feather, a little on the rigid side…” Harry did the same with this one, but the wand just gave some smoke but nothing more.

The process continued for fifteen minutes. “Tricky costumer, I see. Well, that is understandable, as wizards that have elder wands tend to be _quite_ tricky, indeed. Mmm… Let’s see, try this one.” Mr. Ollivander gave Harry another wand. This time Harry noticed the wood was elder. The wand itself was well-carved; well, perhaps not as beautiful as the Wand of Destiny, but beautiful enough.

“Try this one, Mr. Alessi. Elder wood, 14 inches, phoenix feather, rigid… It was the work of an ancestor of mine, you see. He lived in the 14th century. This wand was the only work that he left, so it is something quite unique.

Harry took the wand and suddenly a rain of sparks lightened up the room. Nevertheless, Harry knew that this wand wasn’t the Elder Wand. It was quite powerful, probably one equal to his old holly wood wand, but the Wand of Destiny was more powerful, or at least, for Harry, it was more in tune with his magic.

“Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. This wand suits me quite well. However, I can’t help but wonder why in the first place you didn’t give me this wand or other elder wands…” Harry raised a brow.

“Mr. Alessi, you have to understand that every wand is a different world altogether. In the past, some wand makers wrongly assumed that when a wizard bought his second wand, said wand wood had to be the same as their first wand.” Mr. Ollivander shook his face. “However, that is wrong. The wood doesn’t define everything. The wand core is also important, as is the length and flexibility. I asked you about the wood you had with your last wand because certain woods tend to have more similarities than others, but that’s it. Remember, the wand chooses the wizard, not the other way round.”

“Well, thank you Mr. Ollivander. This has been most illuminating. How much I owe you?”

“Ah, 15 galleons, Mr. Alessi. Thank you.”

Harry nodded and left the store.

_Well, that went better than expected._

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH

Harry spent several hours shopping. He bought a whole new wardrobe, some books to kill time, some parchment, quills and blank letters, and started reviewing the status of his account in more detail than yesterday. He also wrote a letter to his account manager to help him out get a new property. Harry could not help but wonder if he would find obstacles to do so, though. In any case, if things turned awry, Harry could use his status as a British Lord.

On another note, Harry wondered if there were people back in Italy who would recognise him. He was part of the Alessi family and perhaps, even, the Heir of the Family, as it seemed Grindewald killed the heir and all the other members. Now, _that_ would be problematic. Would Grindewald want to kill him too, then? Possibly. He groaned. _Fuck. Now I wish I didn’t do the ritual. I’m starting to believe Death encouraged me to tell him what I desired, because he knew in advance what I would tell and, consequently, could send me here._

Overall, Harry found himself lost. Maybe he could get back his old job? Being a curse-breaker was something Harry enjoyed quite a bit, although most of the times there weren’t any lost treasures or places to research ancient civilisations. But then, Harry groaned, once again. _Fuck, I keep forgetting I am 14 years old. Ugh. This is such a pain. Who in his right mind would hire a teenager?_

He would also have to redo his OWLs and NEWTS, which wasn’t something Harry was particularly concerned with, though. His knowledge of the Magical Arts was something few could even hope to achieve. Although there were certain subjects Harry would have to review, such as astronomy or herbology.

This leading to the next point.

He would have to go to Hogwarts again.

_He would have to go to Hogwarts again._

Harry let the thought sink for several minutes. He groaned once again.

But after several minutes more sulking in his bed, he stood up and grudgingly wrote a letter to the Headmaster.

_Esteemed Headmaster Dippet,_

_My name is Gabriel Alessi. I recently moved away from Italy due to certain circumstances, and see myself in desperate need to continue my magical education here in Britain. I am fourteen and have been educated for five years in the Magical Arts. Would it be possible for you to accept me to your prestigious magical school? I suspect it would be appropriate for me to enrol me in your OWLs course. The subjects I have been studying are Charms, Transfiguration, Defence against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Magical Theory and Alchemy._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Gabriel Alessi_

The next day in the morning Harry received a letter with the Hogwarts seal. He opened and read the contents.

_Dear Mr. Alessi,_

_It is my pleasure to accept you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a new student. Attached to this letter you have the list of supplies you need for your next year. Also, I am afraid you have to contact our Ministry (Department for Magical Education) to pay 1,000 galleons, as it is the import of the tuition here at Hogwarts. Gringotts may help you out in that regard._

_As for the subjects, you will be able to enrol all of them but Alchemy, as it is a NEWT level subject and, as such, only students who have passed their OWLs can study it. I apologise for the inconvenience._

_As a side note, Hogwarts students are expected to board the Hogwarts Express on September 1st at King Cross Station (Platform 9 and ¾)._

_Best wishes,_

_Armando Dippet_

_Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Well, it seemed it went better than expected. Inwardly, Harry wished it hadn’t. The prospect of having to bear with teenagers the next three years was quite daunting. _But I guess now I’m a teenager too,_ Harry thought morosely. His new appearance would be something Harry would struggle to accept.

 _Maybe everything isn’t_ that _bad_ , Harry considered. He would have at his disposal the Hogwarts Library, which was enormous. He could take advantage of it and research ways to time travel. Harry didn’t know if time travelling to the future would annoy Death, though. But he had to try. Perhaps he could even confide in Dumbledore.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! 
> 
> I know this chapter might be a little more boring than usual, but I assure you things are going to heat up. 
> 
> Thank you for your support, by the way! :)
> 
> Btw, I've posted this fanfic on fanfiction.net Here's the link if you want to follow the story there: https: // www.fanfiction.net /s/ 13645306/1/ Boredom-and-Its-Implications

September 1st, 1942

Abraxas Malfoy, along with his mother, got in King’s Cross a little earlier than he was used to. Such occurrence, thought Abraxas later, had to be an indicator that the day was going to be different than normal. Nevertheless, he was eager to see Tom once agai- _Ahem_. He was eager to meet his _friends_ once again so, for the time being, he didn’t let himself muse on trivialities. Impatiently, he kissed his mother on the cheek and, after ensuring her he would send her a letter every week _at least_ , Abraxas entered the train with his luxurious feather-weight charmed trunk.

As usual, Abraxas headed to the end of the train, as it was the area where his friends and Tom usually sat. When he arrived, though, he sadly noticed neither Tom nor his friends were there. He noticed another unknown wizard sitting on one of the compartments alone, though. Normally, Abraxas wouldn’t even have thought about it, as it was proper for a pureblood heir to not pay attention to _lesser_ wizards, of course. However, when he fixed his glance on _him_ , his jaw almost dropped.

Abraxas always understood the concepts of beauty and fashion better than most. He was the heir of the Malfoy Family, a pureblood family well-known by their great physical appearance and gold. Since he was a child, Abraxas was trained in the ways of wizarding fashion and beauty. As such, Abraxas prided himself on being a cultured wizard in recognising beauty, as he had seen many beautiful things (or people) lots of times. But what he saw in front of him… _Dear Morgana, he is as handsome as Tom or even more beautiful! He seems a fucking angelic being!_

Abraxas opened the door more hesitantly than he was comfortable with. The unknown wizard stopped reading the book he was holding and looked at him. Sadly to Abraxas, that proved to be too much for him – as he blushed and averted his gaze. An amused smile crossed the face of the unknown wizard, and Abraxas knew the wizard knew he was blushing. _Fuck. I want to die! I’m blushing as a 10 year-old girl meeting his idol._

“Ahem… Nice to meet you” started Abraxas, trying to regain composure. “May I sit?” Abraxas asked, this time a little bit more inquisitively. 

The wizard smiled and nodded. “Of course. Have a sit.”

 _Merlin, even his voice is angelic_ , thought Abraxas morosely. “I don’t recall… seeing you before. Are you, perchance, a transfer student?” asked Abraxas.

“Yes, I recently moved away from Italy due to… recent events.” A look of understanding crossed Abraxas’ face. It was well-known Grindelwald and his followers had attacked the Italian Ministry recently, making lots of families try to move away in order to avoid more problems.

“Well, I do hope you like it here. Britain is a great country, full of history and brilliant wizards,” stated Abraxas proudly. “But, in any case, let me introduce myself.” He offered Harry his hand. “Abraxas Malfoy, heir to the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy.”

Harry accepted his hand and gave him a handshake while smiling timidly. “Pleasure. I’m Gabriel Alessi, from the Alessi Family.”

Abraxas seemed to recognise his surname, as he smiled broadly. “Are you from the Alessi Family? That’s magnificent news! Father was devastated when he heard the tragic news. The Alessi Family is one of the most ancient families in Italy, as far as I know.”

“That’s right,” assented Harry.

At that moment, the compartment opened.

Tom Marvolo Riddle got in with a subtle frown, although he masked his expression almost immediately. He had a perfect sculptured face, pale skin and maroon eyes that seemed to shine on their own. However, what was most interesting about him was the _power_ he radiated – a dark magical aura that seemed to encompass every corner of the compartment with its might.

“Oh, it seems we will have a new… acquisition this year in Hogwarts,” said Tom with a charming smile. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Tom Riddle.” He offered his hand.

Harry raised an eyebrow but accepted his hand, and gave him a handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, too. I’m Gabriel Alessi, from the Alessi Family.”

Tom looked at his eyes intently for an instance, but quickly recovered. “I presume you are from Italy, right? Let me guess… You moved here because of Grindelwald, didn’t you?”

An amused smile crossed Harry’s face. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy Hogwarts,” nodded Tom. “After all… It’s one of the most prestigious magical schools in Europe. Or so it’s said.”

“Lucky me” said Harry, wryly.

“Indeed” answered Tom, amused.

“So, are you aiming for a specific house?” Abraxas intervened.

“Not really. Although I expect to be sorted in Slytherin or Ravenclaw. The rest of the houses don’t really align with my personality, I would say.” 

Three other people opened again the compartment’s door.

“Look who we have here!” Abraxas announced. “Nice to see you again Black, Avery… Nott.”

Tom just nodded at their direction but didn’t say anything.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The journey to Hogwarts was quite silent; Black, Nott and Malfoy only spoke when they had something interesting to say (rather, when the awkward silence in the compartment became unbearable). Sadly, Riddle had to excuse himself as he was a prefect and had duties to attend within the first of hour. Interestingly, when Riddle left, Black, Nott and Malfoy seemed a little bit more uncomfortable than they were when Riddle was there. _Is my presence_ that _imposing?_ Thought Harry, amused.

Harry obviously perceived the tension that was in the air, so after a few pleasantries he started reading the book he had brought with him and ignored the others.

They arrived in the evening. The air was quite cold. Harry inadvertently shuddered. As he headed to the carriages with Malfoy beside him, he noticed a hand from behind that grabbed him on the shoulder. He turned around and a strong, bearded man's face appeared before him.

“Hey, are you Mr. Gabriel Alessi?”

Harry frowned. “Yes, I am. Why?”

The man smiled. “As you’re new, you have to join the first years.” He continued as Harry refused to say something. “It was the Headmaster’s idea, you see… He said Hogwarts at night is an ‘unforgettable experience.’ I’m Ogg, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, by the way. ”

 _Fuck, more attention._ Thought Harry sullenly.

As it happens, almost everybody on the platform had their gaze fixed on Harry. A few whispers could be heard without too much difficulty.

“Um… Nice to meet you, Mr. Ogg. I shall go with the first years, then.”

“Oh, none of this ‘mister’ nonsense. Call me Ogg,” assured the gamekeeper, grinning. Harry nodded and headed to the black lake with the firsties.

Harry tried to seem indifferent to the attention, but it was turning out to be something quite difficult, as the stares and giggles from some girls were annoying. After a few minutes, Harry joined the firsties at the shore of the Black Lake.

“Good, good, it looks everyone’s here.” Ogg’s voice resounded in the area as he walked to put himself in front of them. “There are four to a boat, so sort yourselves out.” He instructed as he took a boat for himself.

Harry had to say, Hogwarts at night was an amazing view. He sat silently, not conversing with those around him but entirely absorbed by the magnificent spectacle that the illuminated castle made against the wild landscape of Scotland.

Harry’s frustration at being the centre of attention mingled starkly with relief.

The boat trip to Hogwarts was smooth. The firsties were much too nervous (and a little intimidated) to start a conversation with Harry; and that suited Harry well. After admiring the scenery for a while, they finally arrived to Hogwarts.

Climbing gracefully from the boat, Harry titled his neck back in order to view the dominating, magical structure that was to be his home ( _again_ ) for the next 3 years.

An unfathomable number of windows sparkled; casting a soft, inviting, golden light at their feet. Harry could feel the age and strength of the castle, and it was magnificent. His eyes fluttered closed for the barest of seconds, overwhelmed with the tangible taste of magic in the air.

Sense returned to him swiftly, and he calmed his expression, wiping all of his gloom and annoyance.

It would not do to show his true emotions.

Opening his eyes, he cast a sweeping stare among the firsties. For the first time, they were admiring the castle as well (instead of him). The firsties along with Harry walked for a short while; until they arrived to the entrance. Professor Dumbledore was there, younger than Harry ever remembered - not that it was something weird, it was 1942, after all.

Professor Dumbledore smiled warmly to the new students. His gaze, though, stopped a little more with Harry.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor Dumbledore eventually. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.

The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.” Dumbledore looked at his pocket watch.

“The Sorting Ceremony will begin momentarily. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

Harry was amused to notice the welcoming speech Professor Dumbledore said to the first years was the exact _same_ Professor McGonagall said when he was in his first year. 

“Mr. Alessi, a few words, please” said Professor Dumbledore looking at him. Harry followed him inside.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Alessi. I’m the Transfiguration Professor and Deputy Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, sir” said Harry politely.

“I presume you wanted to continue your studies at Hogwarts due to recent events with the Italian Ministry?” asked Dumbledore.

 _Ah, here we go; the old coot wanting to stick his nose into other people’s business._ Thought Harry, cynically.

“I already informed the headmaster of the reason. I’m afraid I don’t understand why you are asking,” Harry said in a curious tone.

Professor Dumbledore seemed amused by Harry’s reaction.

“Oh, just curiosity, Mr. Alessi. Nothing else,” smiled Professor Dumbledore. Then he cleared his throat. “In any case, the Sorting Ceremony is about to start. You will be sorted after all the first years are sorted. I hope you enjoy your stay at Hogwarts.”

Harry went back to where the firsties were.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

After a brief wait in the small anti-chamber, all of the first years were called into the Great Hall and lined up down the centre as a ratty old hat on a stool began to sing a song.

Then, one-at-a-time, their names were called. The first years went up, sat on the stool and were sorted into their houses. It didn’t go unnoticed to Harry the amount of people staring at him as he was a particularly scrumptious desert, but Harry calmed himself down and maintained his composure.

After a while, all first years finished their respective sorting. The Headmaster got up from his throne. His kind voice resounded in the Great Hall.

“Students, I am pleased to inform you this year we will have a transfer student that comes from Italy. Let’s give Gabriel Alessi our warmest welcome.” Dippet started to applause.

Harry was baffled by the volume of the cheers. Everybody started clapping and even whistling suggestively. The embarrassment he experienced was more than sufficient to make him blush.

“Alessi, Gabriel.” Dumbledore called out, eventually.

Harry tried to regain his composure before making his way up to the front and sitting down on the stool.

The hat barely touched his head before the rip in front opened up calling out “SLYTHERIN!”

The students at the Slytherin table clapped a tad more than “just politely” for Harry, as he strode towards it with as much confidence as he could muster. As soon as he sat down, Harry’s eyes were instantly drawn to Tom’s and Tom gave him what he thought was an encouraging smile. Nevertheless, his eyes glinted with some obscure emotion Harry couldn’t decipher.

_Well, it seems I won’t be as bored as I thought._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I'm back! (I don't know for how much time, though). As always, thanks for reading/commenting!

Tom Riddle’s Diary

29th June, 1939

_My Dear Diary,_

_Tomorrow, I’m afraid, I will be returning to the orphanage. This year has been… eventful. In the beginning I was treated as dirt; my classmates in Slytherin saw me just as ‘a mere mudblood.’ Later on, though, they started to see me as someone useful, due to the fact that, unlike them, I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, excelled in all my classes._

_Abraxas was the first to keep me company (though he didn’t want to accept it in the beginning). A month after Yule holidays, though, it became quite clear that my status in Slytherin had changed._

_I won’t be modest in this regard – I’m rather proficient at charming people. My looks are unusual, as is my power, which makes a powerful combination; the best formula to climb high in society, I would say. Once I got some support from someone with influence such as Abraxas, my other classmates were more reluctant to be disrespectful. Towards the end of the year, over a half of my Slytherin classmates had already accepted me as one of them. Even some of them consider me… a friend._

_They are fools, of course. I don’t consider them as friends, or equals for that matter; even if they have their precious Family Magic. They are pests, just as muggles, even if they are relatively more proper than the muggles in the orphanage. Something I’ve realised not too long after I entered Hogwarts is that wizards are sheep. They are predictable, easy to manipulate, and fear the powerful. They don’t seek improvement, but to perpetuate the_ status quo _– which makes a perfect opportunity for powerful people (that is, me, eventually) to subdue others._

_It is so wonderful._

_I realise my dreams will be easier to accomplish than I had expected._

_However, now I have to return to my personal purgatory; the orphanage. How I wish I could stay at Hogwarts. I don’t really understand why the Headmaster doesn’t want me. I’ve been nothing but a perfect student. I must say I have my suspicions, though._

_Albus Dumbledore. Although he treats me fairly, it seems as if he suspects that I am some sort of psychopath – which it is understandable, as I lack any sort of empathy for the weak. That doesn’t mean, though, that I will endeavour myself to kill the sheep for pleasure. No. If I do it, it will be for a reason, that is, to further my goals._

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

4th November, 1939

_My dear Diary,_

_It’s been two months since I began my second year here at Hogwarts. It seems as my position in Slytherin is already consolidated. I am, as always, the best student among my peers. Almost all my classmates in Slytherin don’t dare to disrespect me now (except for Avery and Black)._

_I have started a club, of sorts. Since I was a child, I’ve noticed that Muggles tend to want to be part of a group. Wizards, I’m afraid, have also this need of belonging. This, of course, can be exploited. So, under the pretext of helping my companions in their studies, I have positioned myself as the central figure of the group. A group that, just like Slughorn does it with his Slug Club – is only for a select few. This is, of course, done on purpose._

_I let the word out, and voilà! Even Avery and Black couldn’t help but feel envious of my little group. After two weeks —I created the group at the beginning of October—, Black even begged me to let him enter the group. Well,_ begged _perhaps isn’t the word; rather, he tried to_ bribe _me. Quite endearing, isn’t he?_

_Of course, I had to play with his feelings a little to ensure he would be loyal. So I refused. He got annoyed (which was my intention) and, consequently, tried to bully his way in. His pitiful threats were nothing but empty words to me, naturally, but I let his ego grow by not responding in any way whatsoever to his taunts. But after a week… I took action._

_So after an intense afternoon in which we ended up duelling and me winning by a landslide —so I could crush any hopes he had of getting in my group due to petty threats—, I played the role of an honourable wizard that has thought twice and, despite him being a bully to me, has decided to forgive him and accept him in my group. That ignited in him a flame of hope but, above all, of gratitude._

_In these past few weeks, he has radically changed. Now, he’s always trying to gain my attention and treats me as if I were a princess in an ivory palace (which was my intention since_ the _beginning)._

_I cannot help but show a smug smile from time to time to Abraxas, as he thought Black never would treat me with respect._

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

31st December, 1939

_My dear Diary,_

_Today is my thirteenth birthday. This second year is proving to be somewhat fruitful, even if a little boring. Recently I managed to persuade Slughorn to give me an entrance to the forbidden section of the library, which is, all things considered, quite rare, as second year students don’t usually get this permit. I sometimes even manage to surprise even myself. But I digress. These past few weeks I’ve been studying ancient runes and warding. It’s been a great endeavour; I’ve learnt quite a few things that I didn’t know._

_The first being, that Magic is way more subtle and powerful than I could ever have possibly imagined. There are thousands and thousands of spells. Spells that can regrow limbs or curses that can rot the skin. Charms that can make you forget and even make you do something you’d rather not… and ancient runes have allowed me to understand how to embed magic on parchment (which can become terribly complex sometimes). In addition, runes, depending on the system, can also be used as a language._

_The second being, that wards are crucial to any wizard. I consider my privacy to be something of utmost importance. As such, I’ve been trying to learn by myself this particular branch of magic, which has been unexpectedly difficult in comparison to other branches of magic such as transfiguration or charms. This is because in order to create wards, you have to be quite in resonance with your magic and be powerful enough to do it. Besides, depending on the ward and its effects, the demand of magic power can be higher than usual._

_Lastly, the third being that it’s quite interesting to study these two branches of magic not only for the knowledge itself, but because it’s helping me grow in power every day I practice it. There are many authors specialised in magical theory who hold the idea that magic is an inherent gift, and that everyone is born with a predetermined magical power. But I know that isn’t true. Magic is like a muscle, the more you use it the more it grows. I will ascertain, though, that changes are so minimal that can be overlooked; nonetheless, I’m gifted enough to notice the changes._

23st April, 1940

_My dear Diary,_

_I’d like to say that I’m surprised that Slughorn has invited me to his little club – but I’m not. As I’ve said, this club is exclusive to those select few my dear head of house considers to have the potential to be powerful or influential in the future. It isn’t solely made up of Slytherins, though – but rather anyone and everyone who is seen as having a vast potential. I shall attend the next party –even if I wished to do something else– if nothing else to make connections and grow my power base. Besides, it’s amusing to see how envious is Abraxas of me, as I’m the only one in my year who has this “honour”._

_On a side note, I’ve been recently interested in the Chamber of Secrets, a well-known myth (if somewhat overlooked, sometimes) that is said to be a chamber that holds a terrible monster that would be unleashed eventually – to clear the school of mudbloods and blood traitors. Nevertheless, my attempts have been futile. I’ve repeatedly combed the school in search of anything that could lead me to the fabled chamber, but I’ve turned up with nothing. I have found, however, the entrance to the kitchens and where the entrances are to the other three house common rooms and, lastly, interestingly enough, a secret passageway behind a mirror on the second floor that seems to lead into Hogsmeade. No signs of the chamber though._


End file.
